


On the Cusp of Trying to Kiss You

by LadyMerlin



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Based on a Tumblr Post, Canon-Typical Violence, First Kiss, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, I Blame Tumblr, Idiots in Love, Jealousy, M/M, Mutual Pining, No Plot/Plotless, Possessiveness, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Unresolved Sexual Tension, hints of rough sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-17
Updated: 2015-08-17
Packaged: 2018-04-15 03:55:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4591980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyMerlin/pseuds/LadyMerlin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve is only human. He can only take so much. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Written for the prompt: "Kiss me", he whispered, hoarsely.</p>
            </blockquote>





	On the Cusp of Trying to Kiss You

**Author's Note:**

> There's a post going around on tumblr about [fictional kiss things](http://andrastesass.tumblr.com/post/120322542322/fictional-kiss-things-that-end-me), and [Anon prompted me](http://obsessionality.tumblr.com/post/126838216579/stucky-and-14-for-the-kiss-thing) with bullet no. 14 for Steve/Bucky.  
> (with a bonus bullet no. 15 thrown in, because I'm nice like that)
> 
> The title comes from _Do I Wanna Know_ by the Arctic Monkeys, which is one of the sexiest songs on the planet.

“This is the dumbest thing I’ve ever done,” Steve said, and he didn’t even have to look at Bucky to know that Bucky was giving him the _look_. The _look,_ that said louder than any words could, exactly what Bucky thought of Steve’s intelligence in general. It was refreshingly familiar, because the only other person who insulted his intelligence on a regular basis was Stark, and Stark was _far_ more vocal than Bucky, whose primary mode of communication was his eyebrows and his fists.

“Okay, fair,” Steve conceded the point, because _really_ , this whole wear-a-penguin-suit-and-pretend-to-be-a-wealthy-gentleman thing wasn’t as bad as some of the missions where he’s had to jump off things, or out of things, or through things. Maybe one day Stark would make him trampoline boots, and that would be _fun_.

He swore when the bow-tie refused to cooperate, then grinned when Bucky slapped the tie out of his hand before he could crumple it too badly. Bucky’s hands were steady and sure with the bow tie around his throat, and although objectively Steve knew that Bucky _could_ kill him with just the bow tie, right _there_ , he also knew with absolute conviction that he _wouldn’t_. Bucky would die before he hurt Steve, and that was why Steve had picked him for this particular mission.

The target was a group of military vigilantes who were disseminating information to the enemy, and although he knew that although Natasha was as deadly as Bucky, if not more, the type of people at this thing would see her as a trophy, and none of them would let their guards down enough to talk about the things Steve needed them to talk about. It was better to take Bucky, who supposedly looked like just another military man in a crowd of military men, who would be treated as part of the group more than Natasha ever would.

In all honesty, Steve wasn’t sure how anyone could ever take their eyes off Bucky. Not when he was wearing a sharp suit with a blue tie that suited his eyes (courtesy of Stark), and his hair was slicked back, displaying his cheekbones to full effect. He looked nothing like ‘every other military man’, though Steve was possibly biased.

Oh well, he’d have to take Natasha’s word for it.

 

_12 Hours Later…_

 

“Remind me never to take your word for it, ever again,” Steve said to Natasha, the smile on his face belying his words.

“Sure, Cap. I’ll make a note of it,” she replied, smoothly pistol whipping a suited guard who came up behind her. As usual, she was impressive in every way, and Steve wondered if she would teach him how to be that smooth, someday.

“Sure,” she replied, as if he’d voiced his thoughts out loud. He _hated_ it when she did that. He was always worried that she’d stolen some unholy device from Stark’s lab which let her read minds. It was downright unsettling. She grinned at his scowl before using him as a fulcrum to bring down another pair of armed guards.

“I have a feeling,” she said, sliding tiny canisters full of knock out gas under doors, “that they only realised Bucky _wasn’t_ military because of you,” she emphasized with a pointy finger in his shoulder, where it _hurt_.

“Ow,” he complained, giving her a boost so she could climb into the ceiling panels. “Not everything that goes to shit is my fault, you know,” he reminded her, though she had a point.

“Tell me it’s not true,” she replied, without even looking at him. He pouted dramatically and she laughed.

They were running around a corner when they slammed straight into Bucky and Sam, who were running in the opposite direction.

“Can you believe this bozo is blaming _me_ for this clusterfuck?” Bucky demanded cheerfully, gesturing a metal thumb at Sam, who rolled his eyes while reloading his gun. “It’s totally your fault, Steve!”

“I’m honestly feeling so victimized, right now,” Steve sighed, and passed a flashbang to Sam.  

“Boo, you whore,” Natasha quipped without missing a beat.

“Never letting you ladies watch Mean Girls again,” Sam added, before throwing the flashbang into the central ball room, where most of the militants were still clustered, blithely unaware that they were under attack.

Then they rushed the room, arms ablaze, and everything got too loud for Natasha to complain about being put in the same category of ladies as Steve and Bucky. “Honestly Falcon,” she complained when they were finally out of the noise and the smoke, and SHIELD agents were handily dealing with the rest of the militants. “I’m _so_ not that kind of girl!”

Bucky rolled his eyes and turned to Steve, eyeing his bowtie. “Well _that’s_ ruined,” he said, deadpan.

“Thanks Buck. I didn’t know that.”

Bucky rolled his eyes again and opened his mouth, no doubt to release a volley of sarcastic retorts, but instead, he coughed, and coughed, and didn’t stop. Steve wasn’t worried initially, but when it sounded like Bucky couldn’t breathe through the coughs, he started rubbing Bucky’s back and steered him towards the Medevac.

Once again he appreciated how Hill always sent out a Medevac for his missions. She claimed it was because he was an accident prone, walking disaster, and that he was “almost as bad as Barton,” but he appreciated the concern anyway.

Bucky was fine, he’d just inhaled some smoke and his throat was irritated. Steve insisted on taking him home and feeding him soup anyway. Bucky didn’t know how to take care of himself, and wouldn’t, even though he’d been injured.

That’s how the two of them ended up vegged out on the couch after eating an impossible number of fries and drinking litres of coke between them. “This is why Natasha calls us overgrown frat boys,” Steve observed.

Bucky shrugged, and it looked uncomfortable from his slouch on the sofa, but he didn’t move. Bucky was like a cat, that way, with the bendy spine and unexpected flexibility. Steve did his _best_ to suppress the frisson of heat that ran down his spine at the thought of Bucky’s _flexibility._

After a moment of silence, Bucky asked what had clearly been bugging him the entire night. “What was that, Steve?”

Steve sighed. He should have known better than to think that Bucky would let it slide. “It was nothing, Buck.”

He _still_ hoped that Bucky would let it go, but his hopes were smashed when Bucky sat up and snarled at him, teeth bared and eyes wide. “Like _fuck_ it was nothing Steve! What was _that_? People hit on me all the fucking time!” He sounded genuinely outraged and concerned at the same time, which reminded Steve so much of the early 1940s, when Bucky had spent _years_ being outraged and concerned about Steve.

“I know they do, Buck, but—”

“Then what the _fuck_ was that? Why did you get in the way?!” Bucky demanded, arm swinging wildly.

Steve instinctively ducked away from the trajectory of Bucky’s arm and sighed. “I don’t know, something felt off.”

Bucky studied him, and it always amazed Steve how quickly he fluctuated between anger and stillness, like he’d learned to flick a switch to become quiet and small to avoid detection. “Off like what? You thought he was going to attack me?”

Steve shook his head, wishing he was brave enough to put it into words, but not wanting to lie to Bucky despite his failure to be coherent. “No, no I didn’t. It just felt off. The way he was touching you.”

“But _why_?” Bucky asked, and now he was pleading and desperate, like there was an answer he was looking for, hoping for, that Steve wasn’t giving him. “You keep doing that, but _why_?”

He sighed and closed his eyes, wishing he had something with which to hide his face. “I don’t like it when other guys touch you,” he admitted it. “I don’t like it when you like other guys touching you.” He covered his face with his hands, falling back on the age old trick of if-I-can’t-see-you-you-can’t-see-me. “I’m jealous, Buck. Jealous as sin. You know that.”

And that was the crux of it. Bucky _knew_ better than Steve, why he acted the way he did, and he neither encouraged nor discouraged it. Apart from the fact that he’d been frozen in ice for 70 years, not knowing whether Bucky liked him back was one of the greatest tragedies of Steve’s life.

“Jealous of what?” Bucky asked, and that – that was just unnecessary. Bucky was an asshole, but really, this was pushing it. Steve turned to glare at Bucky, but instead of seeing the expected mockery, Bucky just looked confused. “Jealous of me? You interested in that guy?”

It almost sounded like – but surely not. Surely Bucky knew… There was hardly any doubt – Steve was many things, but he was not subtle. _Surely_.

Apparently not.

“Bucky,” Steve sighed, voice hitching awkwardly, “I’m jealous of everyone who gets to hit on you. Everyone who gets to touch you, Buck. You _must_ know that, Natasha’s been laughing at me for months now because I’m so obvious. You’re making this really difficult.”

Bucky’s jaw dropped and his eyes widened almost comically, and it would have been funny if Steve’s heart hadn’t been breaking into pieces. It had been such a good day too, and now. And now.

Steve sighed and pushed himself off the couch, away from the single point of contact where their legs tangled on the coffee table. He didn’t trust himself to look back at Bucky, not sure what he’d do if Bucky looked angry, or worse, pitying. He knew he was supposed to be taking care of Bucky, but he wasn’t sure if Bucky would be interested in having Steve anywhere near him.

Oh, he knew they’d fix things, eventually; they’d been friends for too long for something like this to ruin them. But it would never be the same, and he had to get used to that. So he was going to take the night to mourn the loss of _Bucky &Steve_, and tomorrow they’d go back to pretending that nothing was wrong, and eventually it would be true.

“Wake me if you need anything, Buck. Don’t suffer in silence, or anything.” He still didn’t turn to look at Bucky, because he needed that distance, for the sake of his own sanity.

Steve was about to walk into his room when he heard movement behind him, and a hand fell on his shoulder. He squeezed his eyes tight and exhaled deeply, because Bucky was an ass, but he’d never before been cruel, not to Steve.

“Steve,” Bucky started, and his voice was hoarse and shaky, “Steve please turn around.” He sounded like he was actually pleading but Steve was stuck in a nightmare world where he’d never get to hear Bucky say his name the way he wanted him to, and he kept his eyes closed, kept himself turned away.

“Steve,” Bucky pleaded again, and it was just too much to take. Steve turned on his heel, suddenly so angry that he was trembling with it, because why couldn’t Bucky just. Leave. It. **_Alone_**.

He knew he shouldn’t have, but he put his hands on Bucky’s shoulders and _shoved,_ desperate to get Bucky away from him. He regretted it the moment he did it, because he didn’t want to be violent even in anger, and thank god Bucky was more than strong enough to stand up to Steve’s strength. Thank _god_ , because Steve didn’t know what he would have done if he’d actually hurt Bucky.

Bucky didn’t even stumble. He stepped back, but he kept his hands on Steve’s shoulders, not keeping him away, or even bracing him. It just felt like he was touching Steve for the sake of it, because he just didn’t want to break contact.

It was Steve’s turn to snarl, and he did, because he did _not_ deserve this. Bucky – he did _not_. He moved to push Bucky’s hands off him, but stopped when he heard Bucky saying something, under his breath. “What?” he demanded, harsher than the situation merited. “What did you say?”

“Kiss me,” Bucky whispered, his voice hoarse and broken. He didn’t break eye-contact with Steve, and it was the cruellest thing he could have done. Steve made a sound like he’d been stabbed, and made to move away, but Bucky’s hands fisted in the shoulders of his thin t-shirt and held him back.

Steve could have ripped the shirt without even trying, it would have been _easy_ , really, but there was something in Bucky’s eyes that stopped him from moving away. “Kiss me,” he asked again, “ _please,_ ” rough like sandpaper. He pulled Steve towards him with the steel grip he had on Steve’s shirt, pulled him so that Bucky was leaning against a wall and Steve was a mere hands’ breadth from him.

Steve was trembling with some emotion, brimming over with fear, because of all things, this wasn’t something to be taken lightly. He couldn’t tell if Bucky was being serious or whether it was some sort of prolonged prank, and if it was the latter, he was going to die right there, on the spot. His heart was going to give out and he would expire permanently, like he should have, twenty years ago.

Bucky shook his head, looking as desperate as Steve felt. “I’m serious, Steve, _kiss me_ —” he begged, low and throaty, like he’d been sucking someone’s _cock_ , and Steve only had so much control. He surged forward, into Bucky’s space, and pressed his lips against Bucky’s, and there was nothing tentative about it.

Bucky’s mouth opened easily, parting for Steve, hot and slick and _lush_ , and Steve _kissed_ him, harder than he’d meant to, with bruising force. He sucked Bucky’s lower lip between his own and bit down. Bucky whimpered, melting into him.

By then, Steve had Bucky well and truly pinned up against the wall, with one thigh pressed between Bucky’s legs, trapped between an immovable object and an unstoppable force. One hand had instinctively cupped the back of Bucky’s head, because the pent up floodgates had been unleashed, but Steve didn’t actually want to hurt the man he’d loved for so long. The other slipped around to press flat against the small of Bucky’s back, fingers pressing hot through the ratty sweatpants.

Steve didn’t break the kiss, licking into Bucky’s mouth, tongues tangling like a fight. Even when Bucky moaned into the kiss, Steve just pressed in, tilting Bucky’s head to accommodate, deepening the kiss until it felt like he was _inside_ Bucky. He could feel Bucky’s pulse fluttering frantically in the hollow of his throat, and Steve had _plans_ for that point; plans involving his _teeth_. When he squirmed, Steve just pressed his thigh harder between Bucky’s legs, quietly _thrilled_ to feel Bucky’s cock stirring beneath the sweatpants.

He poured every drop of possessiveness he felt towards Bucky into the kiss, every ounce of frustration and jealousy, and every _single **inch**_ of lust. He didn’t let Bucky’s inspired squirming distract him; he was very good at focusing past his arousal – he’d had lots of practice, working with Bucky. Steve didn’t stop until he had showed Bucky everything he’d ever felt, every time someone _else_ had hit on Bucky, and Bucky had responded with flirtatious smiles and winks.

And when he thought he was done, he pulled back to look at Bucky, who was trembling with his eyes closed, his lips shiny with spit. Steve was only human, and Bucky’s lips were temptation incarnate, so he leaned in to kiss Bucky again, because he couldn’t stop thinking about all the times Bucky had nibbled at his lower lip when flirting, driving Steve slowly insane.

Steve didn’t let up until Bucky was whining and actually pushing him away, which was when reality came rushing in like an ice-cold tide of absolute _horror_. Steve backed away so quickly that Bucky looked a little confused, and he was _horrified_ that he’d let it go that far just because of Bucky’s taunts, and he felt flashes of hot and cold and mortification and _oh god_ — His hands had involuntarily clenched into fists and the press of his own nails in his palm was the only thing keeping him from spiralling into a panic attack because _holy shit_ —

Bucky seemed to clue in to what was wrong, almost immediately, and in a breath-taking role-reversal, he pressed into Steve’s body, standing in the middle of the cold hallway, and pulled him down for a kiss with two hands wrapped around his jaw.

Bucky kept the kiss sweet and gentle and soft, almost chaste in comparison to the violence with which Steve had kissed him earlier. His eyes were still closed, and his ridiculously long lashes brushed Steve’s face, and of all things, that was what brought him out of his panic. Because Bucky was a lean, mean, survival machine, but he still trusted Steve with his eyes closed.

When Bucky pulled away, Steve had finally stopped shaking, and there was a long, still moment where they stood there and stared at each other in silence, before both of them were speaking at the same time.

“What the _hell_ Buck—” “You should have fucking _told_ me, _asshole—_ ”

They both stopped, and Bucky gestured for Steve to go first, which was fair, given that Steve had pretty much attacked him with his mouth. “I like you,” Steve said, and then thought about it. “No, I’m not a high school student. I love you. You know I love you. But I’m also _in_ love with you. Have been for a damn long time, Buck. Now you,” he said, gesturing for Bucky to speak.

Bucky gaped for a minute, jaw slack, and Steve could not physically stop himself from eyeing Bucky’s kiss-swollen lips. “Steve, I’ve been in love with you since before I fell off Zola’s train, what the _fuck_ are you talking about?”

It was Steve’s turn to stare in shock, because that meant…

That meant that—

“Fuck, Bucky, we could have been doing this for _years_ , _”_ Steve swore and went for Bucky’s pants.

Bucky huffed out a laugh, and deliberately _didn’t_ make a comment about the romance being dead, because god knows they’d waited long enough, in the longest courtship in the history of mankind.

Half way through shucking their clothes, shameless because they’d seen each other undressed hundreds of times, Bucky interrupted Steve’s thorough claiming of his neck with his teeth, and smiled at the dazed look on Steve’s face. “Steve,” he asked, and Steve hummed in reply. “Kiss me again, will you?”

And this time, he didn’t have to ask twice.

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be a drabble, and I, for one, do not know what the f*ck happened. Stucky isn't even my OTP?? Regardless, I hope this brightens someone's Monday morning. 
> 
> Comments and Kudos are love! <3
> 
> PSA: this is not betad - concrit is welcome.


End file.
